


It was pointless

by tyrannsauroswrex



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 01:27:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17992217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyrannsauroswrex/pseuds/tyrannsauroswrex
Summary: Widowmaker returned the cabaret to listen to a song and chase her deeply buried memories.





	It was pointless

She stuffed her cold hands into her pockets and wrapped her scarf tighter against the heavy wind, her hair blew behind her as she walked down the mostly abandoned cobblestone street. She kept her eyes downward, hoping the few passerbys wouldn’t recognize her face as she walked steadily closer to the cabaret she visited far too frequently.  
She paused just outside the warm glow of the show lights, the inklings of anticipation crawling up her body. It was faint, but she felt her heart beat change and she clenched her fists in her pockets. ‘Please,’ she prayed, though she doubted anyone would ever listen to her. Then, just as suddenly as it appeared, it was gone. She felt nothing again and a taut frown pulled at the corners of her mouth. She sighed, kicking herself for expecting anything less.  
Still partially hidden in the shadow, she watched as a young couple walked in the cabaret, the taller, slender woman opening the door for her blonde companion. Their velvety rose colored laughter cutting off abruptly as the door closed behind them.  
Àmelie followed shortly after, the sting of the cold becoming too much to handle. The warmth of inside and the golden light pooled around her stiff body, and she was suddenly unsure of herself. She was too exposed, too alone, in this place where only whole people were meant to enter. She walked hurriedly over to her usual stool at the bar. She unwrapped her scarf and placed it in her lap.  
‘Du vin rogue, s’il vous plaît,’ she said, motioning to the omnic bartender. Her voice cut through the music like steel, but her hand shook as she ordered. The bartender poured her regular order into a regular glass and her lidden eyes stared forward at the woman singing.  
‘You’re back, madame!’  
She nodded. She’d been here every night for a week. Always the same. Always bright, always pleasantly crowded, and she was always too cold, too empty to enjoy it. She drank her wine.  
‘Would you like to request the song again, madame?’ He asked, drying a wine glass with his usual red towel.  
She nodded again, never taking her eyes off the woman below the spotlight. Her red dress and her matching red lipstick were Àmelie’s favorite color. A dark, painfully sad red that reminded her of something just out of reach. Her heart jolted in her chest and she tightened her grip around her now empty wine glass. ‘Juste un peu,’ she pleaded. ‘Juste un peu, juste pour un moment.’  
The song ended just as subtly as it began, and the patrons’ laughter and conversations faded into the background as she started singing again. The tune was old, kind, flowing around her like water. Àmelie closed her eyes, losing herself in the familiarly painful tune.  
She was dancing, her toes barely touching the white marble floor. She was laughing, something so unknown to her she wasn’t even sure she was remembering it right. Her dancing partner, a tall, muscular woman whose name tasted like roses on her lips, laughed along with her, swaying her to the tune of their song. It was a honey tainted melody, as familiar as the woman’s name, and it carried them effortlessly across the dance floor.  
Àmelie clenched her teeth, her breath hitching in her throat. She remembered. She remembered the smell of the woman’s breath, and the taste of her neck after the song ended. She remembered the way her feet hurt, the way her hands burned and her body ached and she remembered how whole she’d felt. She remembered the glistening of the lights off the enormous chandelier and the gentle clink of champagne glasses. She relished in the way the woman’s accent cascaded over the most beautiful two words she’d ever heard; ‘I do.’  
She remembered every detail of that night, from the smell of the red roses to the glare of the cameras but she couldn’t remember her name. Her name, which tasted of lavender and home, was always just out of reach and no amount of songs or wine had brought it back.  
She opened her eyes to see the bartender had refilled her glass and the song had ended. The wine tasted like blood, iron and regret filled her mouth as she downed her glass.  
She left, as quickly and unremarkably as she had arrived. Her scarf shielding her from the wind once again, she melted into the alleyway. She would not be back to the cabaret, it was pointless.

**Author's Note:**

> Widowmaker is a lesbian in this btw


End file.
